


Every Rose Has Its Thorns

by shadow_prince



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Beauty and the Beast, Canon-Typical Violence, Jegulily, Language of Flowers, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, No one dies though, True Love's Kiss, You know the scene, cause fuck that, minus the stockholm syndrome, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-06 01:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_prince/pseuds/shadow_prince
Summary: Two beasts, a lot of magic, and a rose garden.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Beauty and the Beast AU
> 
> Thank you so much to the RL Fest mods for putting on this wonderful event, to the R/S discord for listening to me whine about how far behind I was for the past several months, and my numerous lovely betas who assured me this wasn't absolute shit that should be scrapped. To the anon who left the prompt - I hope you like how it turned out. <3
> 
> Enjoy xx

_ Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a young prince who lived in a magnificent castle with his mother, the queen, and his young brother. Although the queen had everything she could desire, she was wicked and unkind, choosing to use her magic and power for evil, and unwilling to help her subjects.  _

_ The young princes were both very beautiful and kind, and frequently drew the ire of their mother, until one day she tried to arrange the betrothal of her heir to a princess just as dark and wicked as she.  _

_ The prince refused, insisting he would only marry when he found someone he loved, and that he would not marry someone of her choosing. _

_ She warned him that love and goodness were naïve; that it was more important for him to protect his pure bloodline and amass great power. _

_ Again, the prince refused, saying he would rather never marry, than spend his life ruling with one who would torment their subjects as she had.  _

_ In her anger, the witch transformed her son into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful curse on the castle and all of its inhabitants within, that all would remain like that until the prince resolved to spend his life with someone worthy.  _

_ Even in his monstrous form, the young prince stood steadfast by his belief, wavering only when he saw his brother, friends, and servants bearing his punishment as well. However, they believed in his goodness, and stated that they would rather bear the queen’s curse for as long as it would last, than see their prince married to another like her. _

_ And so they shut themselves away in their enchanted castle, biding their time together, until one day the queen grew ill and passed. When the spell was not broken by her death, they lost all hope of it ever being dispelled, for who could be worthy and love a beast, beside someone as evil as she? _


	2. Chapter 1

Stepping out into the fresh morning air, Remus closes the door quietly behind him, careful not to wake his still sleeping father. With a bounce, he adjusts the heavy bag, hiking it higher onto his shoulder, before turning and setting off on the dusty path into the village. 

When he had awoken that morning, throwing open his windows to greet the rising sun, he had been excited to find the late spring weather mild enough to pull out his lighter attire. He had been  _ less  _ excited to find that he had once again grown since the previous summer, forcing him to cast careful enlargement charms once again. The fabric was thin from repeatedly being expanded rather than replaced, but Remus and his father could hardly afford to replace his clothing with every of his many growth spurts.

Thus, his thoughts wander as he walks along the winding road, dirt giving way to neat cobblestones clicking beneath the heel of his worn leather shoes. His breeches might be thin, but they are soft and mold well to his body from years of use. He hasn’t bothered with robes today, a waistcoat buttoned over his white linen shirt, and a simple, narrow cravat of royal blue tied in a small bow around his neck. His curls are still damp from the bath, but held back from his face, tied at the nape of his neck with a ribbon of the same colour.

Remus waves to the baker, already piling fresh loaves on the shelves in his shop window, warmth rising to gently fog the glass. Many of the other shops are opening as well, doors propped open to welcome the spring winds and chase away the stagnant air inside from a long, cold winter. 

Slowly, witches and wizards trickle into the streets to start another day, like every one before and every one to come. Remus answers the greetings he receives, smiling in his usual quiet way, but not lingering for long in any one place. He winds his way to the book shop and shoulders the door open, the tinkle of a bell signalling his arrival. 

The bookkeeper is already occupied with a man who stands with his hip leaned against the counter, arm gesticulating grandly with each sentence he speaks. Catching the shopkeepers eye, he rolls his own knowingly and sees the barest twitch of smile from the other man in response. “Good morning, Remus,” he greets, cutting off the pompous man’s tirade. “How can I help you this fine day?”

“Just come to return the books you lent me.” Laying the heavy bag from his shoulder on the counter, Remus begins withdrawing the numerous books from inside.

Clucking his tongue, the man shakes his head fondly. “A more voracious appetite for books there ne’er were. I won’t have anything left for you to borrow soon!”

“Well, he could always repeat my novels then. They are, by far, the most important and enthralling within this shop anyway.”

“Oh, bonjour Lockhart, I didn’t notice you there,” Remus says blithely, without sparing a glance in his direction. 

“Remus, mon chou, how many times must I tell you to call me Gilderoy?”

“I’d rather not. We really aren’t that familiar.”

Gilderoy sidles closer, draping an arm over Remus’ shoulder. “Well then perhaps we could go have coffee, discuss which of my books is your favourite.”

With the look of someone removing excrement from their person, Remus lifts Gilderoy’s hand from his shoulder and drops it, stepping out of his reach. “I wouldn’t want to impinge on your schedule, I know how precious your time is.”

Clearly missing the mocking tone of voice the man waves his hand. “Nonsense! I always have time for mon petit canard en sucre!”

Turning to face the bookshelves, Remus cringes. He hears the bookkeeper cover a laugh with a cough and shoots him a look of distress. “You know, I have never seen you borrow one of Monsieur Lockhart’s books.”

He can’t even be angry with the teasing because of the dramatic gasp it elicits from the author in question. Not that it stops him from throwing a look with equal parts amusement and vexation at his friend. 

“Tell me this is a falsehood!”

“Afraid not, nothing about them catch my attention or strike my fancy.” He proceeds with pulling a book from the shelf that he has read no less than five times, and begins creating a pile on the counter near his bag, resolutely ignoring the sputtering response. He could use his wand to summon the books, sure, but there’s something charming to him about running his hands over the spines and feeling the weight of knowledge within his grasp. He chooses only two more, placing them gingerly on the pile before looking up at the owner shyly. “Is it alright if I borrow these for a few days?”

“You know it is, Remus. Take them for as long as you like.”

“I won’t have them long, I promise. And if anyone enquires about purchasing them while I have them send an owl and I’ll return them right away!”

The man pats his hand. “Don’t worry lad, run along- and send my greetings to your father!”

“That old man? He’s crazy for living so far out of town, I don’t understand why you stay with him in that rickety old house,” Lockhart sniffs derisively. “What you need is to marry a nice man who can take care of you like you deserve.” 

For the first time Remus turns and faces the man directly, eyeing his overly formal clothing and extravagant frills with disdain. He can feel his cheeks blazing a brilliant red in embarrassment. “Don’t you dare talk about my father that way,” his voice is low and steady despite the shame burning in his chest.

Lockhart’s eyes are wide, darting around the shop as if looking for someone else to blame. Remus doesn’t wait to hear his pathetic excuse, pushing the door open with one last nod to the shop owner. No longer in the mood for being around people, he decides to just walk home, keeping his ears open for any other whispers about that weird boy and his father living outside town. He wonders how long it will be before they have to move again.

Pushing the cottage door open, Remus surveys their home, trying to see what Lockhart saw. Sure, the wood floors might have some scuffs, but they’re clean and quiet beneath his feet. The colours in the rug might be faded, but Remus remembers when they were new, when his mother wove them one winter by the fireplace while Remus sat at her feet, a book open in his lap. He brushes his fingers over their kitchen table, the wood chipped and uneven beneath his fingertips and yellowing with age. Age that he sat at this table with his father as he learned to read and write, where he learned his first spells.

Pulling out the kettle and tapping it with his wand to heat, he decides that Gilderoy Lockhart can find the nearest ditch to lie face down in when next it rains. He’s still lost in his thoughts, stirring sugar into his tea when his father emerges, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head. 

“Morning, Son.”

“Morning, Papa. Did you sleep well?”

“Face down at my desk, but well enough.” The tapping of a beak on glass interrupts them, both turning to see the brown barn owl perched on the sill. Remus opens the window, standing back as the owl hops in to stand on the table. 

“Well bonjour Belle, did you have a good adventure?” Lyall Lupin strokes his fingers gently over her honey brown feathers earning a happy chirp. She holds out her leg and he unties the letter attached there, unrolling it and reading as he sips the tea Remus passes him. “AH HAH!” he exclaims, jumping around in excitement, tea sloshing over the edges of the cup but he pays no mind.

“What is it?!”

“This is it, Remus! This will be the answer to our problem!”

Remus sighs, chewing on his lip. “Papa I told you, you don’t have to keep looking for a cure…”

Lyall shushes his son, smiling and clutching the letter like a lifeline. “We’re so close, Remus, I can feel it. A potioneer in Paris has been doing research on lycanthropy and thinks he has something that will work.” Laying down his forgotten tea and the letter beside it, he bustles off to get dressed, raising his voice to still be heard. “I’ll fly to the city just north of here where there’s a floo connection and then hop on over to Paris and meet with him and I can be back before the next moon. Hell, maybe you’ll be cured before the next moon!”

Coming out of his room, he is wrapped in his favourite brown robes. They used to be quite nice, when he was a scholar and his wife still alive, but are now worn as thin as Remus’ breeches. Nevertheless, he squares his shoulders and reaches for his old broom where it rests next to the coat rack. Remus thinks he looks more the man he remembers from his childhood than he has in a long while. His eyes, a perfect mirror of Remus’ own in colour and shape, crinkle more than his forehead and he looks younger for it. 

A large hand settles on Remus’ shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck affectionately. “I’ll be back soon, be a good lad while I’m gone.”

“Be safe,” Remus whispers, before wrapping his arms around his father’s waist. He thinks perhaps others would find it too sentimental for his age, but he doesn’t care. His father is all he has in the world and he couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to him. 


	3. Chapter 2

Lyall steps out of the fireplace, dusting soot from his robes, shoulders slumping in defeat. The trip had been mostly a waste and now he can’t bear the thought of breaking the news to his son - of returning empty handed again. The man did not have a cure for lycanthropy at all. What he had was a  _ theory _ for developing a potion that would make the wolf docile during transformations. And while even that was a breakthrough, it was only a theory, and Lyall still clings to the hope that there is a way to reverse the condition entirely.

Sighing, he moves toward the door, broom held tight in his fist as the building shakes with a boom of thunder.  _ Splendid _ , he thinks. What a way to cap off a horrible trip but with a two hour flight through torrential rain. He doesn’t want to delay though, as the full moon is only a few days away and he hates leaving Remus alone for long periods of time. He knows his son is lonely - sure the transformations must be horrible, but he can’t help but think of all the other ways being a werewolf has taken its toll on his son. If anyone deserved the very best childhood, the very best  _ everything,  _ it is his Remus.

The storm outside soaks through his thin clothes within seconds of pushing off the ground on his broom. He’s squinting through the droplets that splatter his face, trying his best to stay above the muggle path below him. The only benefit to the storm is that no one is out and about to see him flying, so he need not avoid the road like usual. 

A sharp crack of lightning sounds just ahead of him, filling the surrounds with blinding sparks. Gasping, he pulls hard on the handle as a massive tree falls in his path, but he isn’t fast enough. Lyall’s side collides hard with the wide trunk. He plummets to the ground, his broom splitting on impact.

Struggling to his feet, he gathers the splintered pieces of his broom. Perhaps if he can find somewhere out of the storm he can repair it… Another flash of lightning illuminates the sky, followed by a bone rattling boom of thunder. Shivering, Lyall hurries trying to find a way around the tree that’s blocking the road. Following the edge of it into the forest, he finds another road instead, one that appears much nicer and is paved with smooth stones.  _ Perhaps, _ he thinks,  _ there is a town closer this way where I can find shelter and try and fix my broom. _

He knows that his broom is a lost cause, but cradles it to his chest regardless, stumbling through the storm by the light of the flashes of lightning and waxing moon when its mocking beams flits between the storm clouds. It isn’t too long before the road ends at a high stone wall with a wrought iron gate set in it. Beyond, he can see a decrepit castle, fallen deeply into disrepair, with broken windows and crumbling walls. The grounds are overgrown and he thinks he can see eyes peering from some of the brush, but Lyall isn’t afraid.

Before Remus was bitten, Lyall Lupin was one of the most renowned scholars non-human spirits and dark creatures. He’s much more confident of himself in a place like this than out in the storm without a broom, so he pushes open the gate. It swings in easily, incongruent with the rusty appearance. As soon as Lyall steps past the gate and closes it behind him, the disillusionment spells fall away, leaving him standing in a beautiful garden before a gleaming castle with smooth white walls and blue towers.

He hurries up the path, climbing the stone steps to two towering doors. Raising his hand to knock, one door swings open just before his knuckles land. Slightly more afraid than he was when he believed it to be haunted and abandoned by humans, Lyall steps inside hesitantly. 

“Hello?” he calls out into the dark entry. Hearing whispering he spins, searching. “Hello? Is anyone there?” To his left he sees a flicker of light further down a hallway and moves toward it. 

Removing his cloak, he wraps the pieces of his broom in the sodden fabric in case there are muggles, it would be terribly difficult to explain why he was carrying a broken broom with him and nothing else. He thinks the chances are slim since there was a disillusionment charm on the castle, but it never hurts to be careful.

“I was trapped in the storm and lost my way, I don’t mean to intrude,” he tries again.

Again he hears whispering, this time louder, as if nearer. He pauses, straining his ears to listen more closely. 

_ “Can you just be quiet, for once in your life Potter.” _

_ “Oh, come on Reg, he’s soaked!” _

_ “Yes and what if he’s a muggle, how would we explain the talking objects to him? No. Best just to hope he goes away.” _

_ “Use your brain, or have you forgotten to wind yourself again?” _

_ “You know that’s not how this works-” _

_ “-he’s clearly not a muggle, he got past the repelling and disillusionments, didn’t he? I refreshed them myself before the storm!” _

_ “Frankly I think it’s more likely you bollocksed them up than-” _

“I’m not a muggle,” Lyall interjects. He’s still not sure where the voices are coming from, but moves closer to the light, peering about. “A tree was struck by lightning and my broom shattered. I was hoping to find someway to repair it, and then I’ll be on my way.” Peering into a room, he sees that the source of the flickering light is a large fireplace with a lit candelabra on the mantle. “Hello?”

“Oh, you’re soaked to the bone! Please, come in and warm yourself by the fire, monsieur!”

Lyall blinks several times in confusion. He would  _ swear _ the voice came from the  _ candelabra.  _ In fact, as he approaches cautiously, he thinks there’s even a  _ face _ of sorts on it. 

“Now you’ve done it,” says a voice very near to him. Lyall jumps, dropping his cloak and broom in his surprise, and finds a pendulum clock on an end table next to him, and it indeed does have a  _ face _ on its face. Eyes and a mouth on its clock face, that is. Picking it up with one hand, he draws his wand. “Are you a ghost?” he asks curiously, tapping the side with the tip of his wand and whispering a few cursory spells under his breath.

“Oof, that tickles! Stop that!” the clock exclaims.

_ “Homorphus.” _

The clock stopped wiggling for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Oh, I actually hoped that might work, but it appears not…”

“You  _ are  _ human though?”

“Yes. Or rather, was? Am? I’m not sure. Right now I am a clock, am I still a human?”

“This is no time for existential crises, Regulus,” the candelabra drawls.

“When would be a better time?” Regulus quips sarcastically.

Moving closer to the fireplace, Lyall sees the candelabra roll its eyes. “Please, monsieur, sit and dry yourself by the fire.” 

As he sits down, a tea cart comes bustling into the room. “Guests! I thought I heard guests! Ohhh, it’s been so long. Here, have something to eat, and some tea to warm you right up!”

The clock sighs dramatically. “No one listens to me.”

“There’s no harm in helping him, and you saw him cast a charm, so obviously he’s a wizard!”

Regulus grumbles, crossing his wooden arms across his chest, “yes, getting my hopes up and all.”

The candelabra waves its lit arms, wax and fire defying all sense of gravity. “Ignore him, he’s always a bit grumpy, you see. You may call me James, and we will get you nice and dry, a place to sleep for the night, and a broom for the morning to be on your way back home. Just have to make sure we find one that is  _ actually  _ just a broom,” he adds thoughtfully.

Very soon, Lyall is tucked into a warm guest bedroom, falling quickly asleep. The next morning, he rises early, and is helped by James and Regulus into a new set of clothes and given a new broom. “Thank you for all of your kindness, I really can’t thank you enough. I must get home to my son though!”

They bid adieu in the foyer and Lyall makes his way out into the shining morning, all traces of the previous night’s voracious storm blown away to reveal a clear blue sky. He is nearly at the gate when he pauses to admire the beautiful rose garden around a stone fountain. Remembering that roses are Remus’ favourite, and feeling awful that he is returning without the promised cure for his lycanthropy, he steps off the path and cuts a single bloom to bring back to him.

A low growl causes him to freeze, until it grows into a mighty roar. Turning around, Lyall sees in the shadow of a hedge an enormous Grim. The beast leaps through the air, fangs bared and lands just in front of Lyall. The man scrambles backward but loses his footing, falling and crushing the rose in his hand. The thorns cut into his palm, but he dares not tear his eyes from the giant black beast before him.

It stalks toward him and rears up on its back legs, head thrown back in another thunderous roar of rage. “I feed you and clothe you. Grant you my hospitality, and even find a new broom, and you repay me with theft of my most prized possession?”

“I didn’t mean any harm!”

“Insolent ingrate! I see the world has changed naught in my solitude; that kindness is repaid yet with cupidity.”

“My deepest, most sincere apologies. I should have asked, though not meant maliciously, the fault is all mine, kind Sir.”

The beast regards him with calculating eye, finding none of the usual grovelling out of fear and self-preservation, but sincerity of heart. “Why a rose then? There are much more expensive items within my castle.”

“I do not wish for wealth or status, only the happiness of my son. I was stranded in the storm after failing to secure a cure for his condition, and only thought to bring him the rose as apology. They’re his favourite, you see,” he adds the last bit very quietly, raising his eyes to meet the beast’s without fear, but only great sadness. 

The beast’s heart twinges painfully in his chest for a parent so loving of his son, who would risk life and limb to find a cure for a condition, rather than curse him with one. Giving a great sigh, the beast drops to the ground, sitting in front of the man and cocking his head in a very canine fashion.

Lyall pushes himself up to be seated as well, observing the beast before him with great interest. It is covered in shaggy black fur with startling silver grey eyes, and is so large he thinks it must be larger than Remus in his wolf form even.

“Were you once a man then as well? Like your clock and candelabra and everyone else inside?” he asks with genuine interest, waving his hand toward the castle.

“Yes,” he answers tersely, and Lyall knows not to push it. “Your son… he’s sick then?”

Looking down, he fidgets with the crushed rose, gingerly running his fingertip over the bruised petals. “Yes… you could say that, I suppose.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Once more looking at the beast before him, sitting on his haunches surrounded by his most prized possession, a beautiful rose garden, he thinks, maybe, this is someone he can trust with Remus’ secret. And doesn’t he owe the beast that much? To make him understand why he committed his unintentional act of thievery? “Lycanthropy,” he admits softly. He thinks the beast’s eyes widen in surprise. “He’s all I have left in the world. And the kindest, most gentle person I have ever known. But anytime there is suspicion of his being poorly, we have to move. I’m forced to lock him in a cellar for his transformations. I have searched for a cure since he was attacked when he was 5, and I know he thinks there isn’t one, but… I can’t give up hope of improving his life anyway I can, that maybe someday he can live like a normal boy.”

The beast is quiet, studying the damp grass between them for a long time, before rising with fluidity incongruent with his large size and monstrous form. He crosses the open area to a plant that is concealed from Lyall, returning with a new rose. “As payment for the rose you stole, I would ask your word of honour, that you will send your son here for the next full moon. There is no one here for him to hurt. He would be well cared for, and free to return to you after.” The beast hands him a new rose in full bloom - a red and white striped one, vibrant colours like that of blood splattered starkly on fresh fallen snow. “It has been a long time since I had company besides that of the enchanted objects in my home,” his voice is a low rumble, and does nothing to disguise the mournful loneliness of his words.

Lyall only hesitates a moment before rising from the ground and accepting the rose. He casts a careful charm to preserve it before tucking it into his cloak, so that it will not be destroyed in his flight. “I think, perhaps, he will be amenable to that.” The beast nods, then turns and departs without another word, leaving Lyall to make his journey home with a rose for Remus after all.


	4. Chapter 3

Remus’ bones are aching and he can feel every stick and stone beneath the sole of his shoe as he makes the long walk into town. He’s wearing a cloak, despite his tendency to run hot before the full moon and the promise of a warm day, because his skin is overly sensitive to even the lightest of sensations. The whisper of wind sends gooseflesh up his neck and he would rather be too hot than feel so exposed around strangers who might chance brush against him.

He would normally stay home this close to the full moon, but his father is not home yet, and he would like the books he borrowed returned, since he will be in no condition to do so for several days after. He hopes Papa will be home soon, he’s never gone this close to Remus’ transformations, and it would be a lie if he said it wasn’t making him nervous.

The bookshop is in sight, he only has a few more paces before he’s at the door when someone steps into his path. Remus doesn’t bother to hold back his groan of frustration. “Hello, Lockhart, what an unexpected surprise.”

“I’m just full of surprises,” the blond man says with a smile that confirms he completely missed Remus’ sarcastic tone. “In fact, I have quite a surprise for you today. Why, every boy and girl in town would love to be in your shoes. I’m about to make all of your wildest dreams come true!” He reaches out to put an arm around Remus, who ducks under it to avoid the touch.

“What do you know of my dreams?”

“Plenty, of course! Who wouldn’t want to live in a beautiful townhome, here in the village. Close to the bookstore,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, although what he is suggesting, Remus isn’t sure, “then you needn’t make that long walk every time. With my money from being a famous author and all, I could even buy you all the books you want!”

Remus feels sick to his stomach, and he’s sure this time it’s not from the moon. “I’m certain I don’t know what you’re implying, sir.”

“That you’re going to marry me, Remus!” Gilderoy chuckles, shaking his head. “Why, for a boy who reads so much you really aren’t that bright are you? So what do you think? Fall wedding? Crimson silk really brings out my complexion, don’t you agree?”

“You assume too much!” Remus exclaims in exasperation, utterly done with this conversation. He walks slowly backwards, trying to edge his way toward the book store so he can just be done and get home again. “You’re even more foolish than I thought if you truly believe I would marry you.”

“Let’s not be hasty now.” Lockhart throws an arm around Remus who winces in pain. 

He can’t stop it before a growl is tearing from his throat, the wolf in him rearing its head at being cornered and injured by someone outside his pack. The pompous man quickly withdraws his hands, backing up with hands raised in a placating gesture. 

“I can see I came on too strongly. You just need to be wooed! I understand and completely agree-”

“Go,” Remus snarls, enjoying the way Gilderoy turns tail and runs. What he doesn’t enjoy, is the crowd of spectators that has gathered in the square, watching the scene with interest. Sighing, Remus gives a feeble wave to the crowd before turning and finishing his walk to the bookstore.

“Quite the show out there!”

He groans, setting the books down on the counter with a little too much force. “Can you believe the nerve of that arrogant, self-centred-” he stops, bring a fist down on the wood in frustration. “I don’t know that I will ever get married, but I promise it won’t be to that poor excuse of a wizard.” Stretching his fingers, he quickly regrets his little temper tantrum as a bruise is already blooming across the side of his hand and pinky.

“Oh! Let me get you something for that. My, my, you must injure horribly easily for that to have bruised so quickly. But then again I know they say you’re quite poorly…”

“Is that all they say about me?”

The elderly man stops his bustling and looks at him kindly. “Don’t you worry about what they say. They know you’re a good boy. This village just isn’t used to new folks. You and your papa moving here created quite the stir, but they’re getting used to you.”

“Yes, and now I’ve gone and publicly rejected their favourite golden boy,” he replies with disdain, gratefully taking the enchanted cloth he’s given and holding it to his hand.

It raises some suspicion from the bookkeeper that Remus doesn’t pick out new books to bring home with him, but a few vague remarks from Remus about going out of town to see a healer and he drops it. When he makes it back to the cottage, he’s relieved to see his father through the window, hurrying his steps up the path and bursting through the door. 

Remus throws his arms around his father, ignoring the pain the contact causes to his sensitive skin. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it back in time!” he exclaims, embarrassed by the way his voice cracks.

Lyall holds him carefully, before closing the shutters and barring the door. Remus furls his brow, but his unasked question is quickly answered as his father explains everything that transpired. He can’t help the traitorous little pang of disappointment when he hears the cure doesn’t exist, that it was another dead end. 

He is skeptical about the story his father tells of an enchanted castle filled with animate objects and a massive black beast who wishes his company. When his father hands him the rose though, Remus can’t help the soft  _ ooh _ because it is the most beautiful one he has ever seen. He thinks perhaps he should be worried about his own wellbeing in the strange place, and his father swears that he will not force him to go and that he will defend him if the beast comes looking for them, but in the end Remus decides it’s worth the risk. 

A small voice in the back of his head whispers that it might be nice to be in the company of another beast, even if it’s only for one night.

And so, he finds himself the following morning mounting the new broom his father hands him, charmed to guide him back to the enchanted castle. Lyall wraps his new cloak around his son’s shoulders, pinning it securely in place before cradling Remus’ face carefully in his hands.

“Be safe,” he whispers, kissing his forehead. “And return to me soon.”

The broom is much smoother than their old one, and Remus is grateful. The pain of his bones preparing to rearrange themselves is painful enough. He speeds along, winding between trees, but mostly leaving it to the broom to guide him to the enchanted castle. 

Soon, he is dismounting and pushing open the rickety gate, jaw dropping when the disillusionment spell falls away. The grass is brilliantly green and filling the air with fresh scent brought by the recent rain. His old shoes are slightly damp by the time he makes it to the stairs and the castle’s front doors. 

Hesitantly, he knocks, and then again when he receives no answer, before pushing them open and peering inside. “Hello?” he calls out. “Is anyone there?” Stepping into the main hall, he closes the door behind him. His eyes quickly adjust to the dim light this close to the moon, and everything has a bit of a green glow because of it. 

He hears low voices coming from his left and walks that way, calling out again as he goes, “my father was here, he said-” he hesitates, unsure whether to mention the moon. Who knows who else could be nearby? “I was asked to return today?” he says instead, the statement more a question in his uncertainty. He hopes that whoever or  _ whatever _ sent for him will make themselves known soon, he can feel the prickle of the moon on his skin already.

A whisper of fabric and claws on stone alert him before the beast comes into view. Remus stands still, cocking his head to the side and waiting. It shuffles closer on two legs, wearing breeches but nothing across its large, furry chest. The beast stops several feet from him and Remus tries to keep the tentative tremble of fear from showing on his face or growing in his chest.

Instead, he reaches into his cloak and withdraws the red and white rose, holding it in front of him where the beast would see it. “My name is Remus. Thank you for the rose, it’s the most lovely I’ve ever seen.”

Silver eyes sweep across him, before the large, black head inclines in acknowledgement. “You are welcome,” the beast says, his voice a deep, gravelly growl. “My name is Sirius. I am prince of this castle. It has been… some time since my servants and I have had a visitor and I’m… glad you agreed to spend the moon here.”

Before Remus can reply, a metallic clinking interrupts them and he turns to see a golden candelabra hopping its way toward them from the nearest room. “Ahhhh welcome, welcome monsieur! Shall I take your rose then? I can keep it safe for the evening if you would like.”

He can’t keep the surprise from showing this time. Beasts he’s intimately familiar with, but talking candlesticks? “Err… Yes but… how would you carry it?” he asks, wondering if this is insensitive of him.

To his surprise, the beast  _ laughs.  _ A great, hearty thing that rumbles the floor and reverberates through Remus. The candelabra crosses his arms, clearly put out by his master’s amusement.

“Regulus,” Sirius calls out. An enchanted clock sticks its head out of the same room that the candelabra appeared from. “Would you take monsieur Remus’ rose for him?”

Remus carefully places his rose in the outstretched wooden arms of the waiting clock - Regulus, he corrects. “And your name?” he enquires of the candelabra.

“James, James Potter at your service,” he replies with a grand flourish. 

Crouching down, Remus peers curiously at James. “Why are you like this?”

“Ahhh, perhaps a story for another time, mon ami. The moon will be upon us soon, no?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Remus blushes, rising to follow the beast. “And you have somewhere secure to lock me…?”

“We will go to the dungeon to begin with, but after the initial transformation you will have free reign of the castle. There is no one here for you to harm, and it might be nice to stretch your legs.” Sirius turns over his shoulder and winks,  _ winks! _ , at him. “Just don’t want you clawing the wood floors while you turn, otherwise we could go directly to the sitting room!”

“You’re awful… cavalier about having a dark beast in your castle, Prince Sirius.”

“Just Sirius. And the castle always has a dark beast in it. What difference is one more?”


	5. Chapter 4

Sirius cringes at the horrible cries of anguish and pain that tear from Remus’ lips during the transformation. They die off and leave the equally unsettling sound of shifting sinew and bodily changes, until a magnificent grey wolf is laying before him.

Struggling to its feet, the wolf lets out long, angry howl before dropping its head to sniff the air warily, clearly agitated by being in an unknown place. When Sirius shifts closer, the wolf whips around, baring its teeth at the beast. Before Sirius can make a motion of friend, the werewolf is lunging at him, teeth snapping and claws extended. 

Remus is a massive werewolf, more than four feet high to his shoulders, but the beast is still much larger. Sirius swats the wolf away with one large paw like one might push away an over enthusiastic puppy. The wolf rolls on the cobblestone floors before getting to his feet and lunging again. This time, when the beast stops his attack, he holds him down with a paw, before leaning over him and latching onto his scruff with his teeth, just enough to hold him there.

He lets a low growl of his own out, non threatening yet alpha -  _ behave,  _ he says. When Remus stills beneath him, he withdraws and the wolf stays down, blinking large amber eyes at him. Confident that he will at the very least be mellow now, Sirius turns and makes his way on all fours to the door leading upstairs, taking a moment to remember he can stand and open the door himself. He doesn’t look behind him to see if the wolf follows, but smiles at the huff he hears.

At first, the wolf sprints everywhere, like a child doing something they think they aren’t allowed and will be forced to stop soon, but once it realises that no one is forcing it into a cage or stopping it from exploring, it slows its pace and becomes more playful than frantic.

James and Regulus join them, but the wolf barely spares a cursory sniff for them before he’s trotting off to investigate something else.

“Oh, is our furry guest here  _ tonight?”  _ A feather duster asks, leaning her head out of a doorway.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Well it wouldn’t be any good if he were to visit  _ tomorrow _ , since the full is  _ tonight _ now would it, Lily?”

“I don’t need your sass, Black.”

From down the hallway, Sirius sees Remus’ ears perk up with interest. With supernatural speed, the wolf takes off after Lily, barking happily and tongue lolling. He flies through the air in a massive leap, landing with the shrieking feather duster pinned beneath large grey paws. Lily’s shrieks quickly turn to laughter, and Sirius is unconcerned, but James isn’t convinced.

“No! She is not a toy, you overgrown mutt!”

James waves a flaming candle threateningly at Remus who has Lily trapped beneath a paw and is licking at the feathers of her duster. Rather than feeling threatened, Remus simply huffs a clearly exasperated breath, inadvertently but amusingly, blowing out James’ candle.

Sirius roars with laughter, rolling on his back on the floor, as James yelps and scurries backward behind Regulus. 

“What a valiant knight,” Regulus remarks dryly. “Don’t drip wax on my paneling, again.”

Apparently pleased with the reaction he elicits from Sirius, the werewolf leaves his feather duster toy to run over and tussle with Sirius, taking advantage of his prone position.

Lily rights herself with a fantastic ruffle. “My feathers are wet,” she remarks with amusement, “and that  _ tickled _ . He really is rather cute though, isn’t he? I thought werewolves were… I don’t know.”

Regulus is watching the wolf and beast wrestle on the floor. “Dark creatures? Fearsome? Only meant for hunting and slaughtering?” 

Remus freezes, a high pitched whine piercing the air as he watches the clock with fear filled eyes. Reg has the decency to look shamefaced, and Sirius rushes to reassure the wolf.

“No one is hunting you here, you’re safe.” As if to emphasise his point, the beast licks at the wolf’s muzzle. The wolf looks surprised, yet pleased, and shuffles closer to the beast.

“Did… did you just kiss him.”

If beasts could blush, Sirius is sure he would be, but instead he just rolls his eyes. “That’s not how it works with canines, James.”

“Uh huh. But that is how it works with  _ you. _ ”

He’s spared from answering because Remus pushes him over, crawling on top of him to nip softly at his throat and tussel. They roll around for a while until Remus breaks away to chase Lily some more. 

Finally exhausted with chasing the feather duster, the wolf returns to Sirius’ side and drops to his back, wiggling around and showing his belly. Sirius grins ferally, inordinately pleased by the playfulness of the wolf. He nips softly and the werewolf’s stomach before licking it. The wolf smiles, tongue lolling as he continues to wiggle.

As moonset draws nearer, the wolf moves slower, sluggishly with long, sleepy blinks. He turns from Sirius and trapses towards the great sitting room, curling up on the rug in front of the fire in a small ball and watching Sirius where he lingers in the doorway.

_ Vicious wolf, indeed, _ Sirius thinks.

Sirius only hesitates briefly before joining the wolf, wrapping his larger body protectively around Remus in a pile of fur and limbs, warmed by the crackling fire.


	6. Chapter 5

When Remus wakes, he’s lying atop a plush bed, buried beneath layers of soft down quilts and  _ isn’t that a change from usual. _ He considers just snuggling deeper into the folds of all the soft fabric and falling back asleep until someone comes to get him, but knows from experience he should check his wounds before allowing himself to sleep more. 

To his surprise, though, as he struggles to a sitting position, he finds himself already treated and bandaged. A pale lavender rose in full bloom stands inside a crystal single stem vase beside a bowl of rosewater, and leftover medical supplies sit on a table beside his bed. Remus pauses to brush the tip of his fingers across the velvety petals, wondering who had left it there and whether they knew roses are his favourite. 

Saving the thought until later when he’s had more sleep, he moves on to his injuries. After a thorough examination, he determines they have already been properly tended, and crawls back into the bed with every intention of taking advantage of such a nice bed. Merlin knows he will never have the chance again.

When next he wakes, the light outside the windows is growing dim, periwinkle painting the sky as stars blink into view with the quickly approaching night. A lone white candlestick has been lit, held in a simple iron holder for him. Remus approaches it cautiously, trying to decide how to check whether it is sentient or not. The wardrobe lets out a laugh and Remus jumps startled. 

“That one is just a candleholder, love.” 

Remus flushes and scowls. “Well, how would I know.”

“Oh I don’t blame you, I’m just remembering all of our first weeks when ALL OF us looked just like that. A bit of reminiscing is all.”

“Oh,” he replies eloquently, slightly shame faced for inciting such bittersweet memories from the wardrobe.

“None of that now. I have some clothing here for you, if you’re looking to get dressed?”

“Errr, yes, please.”

The wardrobes front opens on its own, a few moths fluttering out and causing her to snap her doors shut again. “Oh, how embarrassing.” Trying again, she opens her doors to show a solitary set of clothes hanging on a peg inside.

Tentatively, Remus removes a pair of soft brown breeches, clean white stockings, a sage green shirt, and a waist coat of the same cedar brown of the breeches. Laying them on the bed, Remus runs his fingertips wonderingly over the fine material, appreciating their simple style yet clearly masterful make. “Thank you,” he whispers, although to whom he isn’t quite sure.

Once he is dressed, the wardrobe opens a drawer, displaying a brand new pair of shoes made of clean, buffed leather. As he buckles them the armoire hums thoughtfully. “We’re still missing something. Oh! That’s it.” Opening another drawer, a ribbon is laying there in the same green as his shirtsleeves and Remus smiles at the eye for detail that Sirius’ attendants clearly possess.

“Thank you,” he says, more forcefully this time, before gathering his hair and clubbing it neatly at the nape of his neck. Just as he finishes, there is a knock at his door.

Remus ignores the fleeting desire that passes through his mind, discounting it as silly and unlikely - a hopefulness that the knock will be Sirius. It is, of course, James and Regulus at the door.

“Oh! You’re dressed, splendid! How are you feeling?” James enquiries.

“Hungry,” he says after another quick survey of his body post moon.

“Maybe just some soup?” Regulus offers, his face writ with concern, if such a thing is possible for a clock. 

“He doesn’t have a fever, Reg, he’s a werewolf not an invalid.” James elbows the clock with the golden arm of his candelabra. “He’s probably ravenous after last night’s romp with his highness.”

“I am rather on the starved side,” Remus admits sheepishly. In all honesty, he feels like he could eat an entire cow and still ask what’s for dessert. “I didn’t - I mean… What do you mean by  _ romp _ with his highness?” He fidgets nervously with a ruffle at his chest.

James cackles rather maniacally and this only serves to exacerbate Remus’ nerves. 

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re worried about. You did make James rather jealous when you caught his little feather duster, though.”

The candle holder in question quickly stops his laughing to glare at Regulus.

“His feather duster?” Remus asks in confusion.

“She’s not  _ my _ feather duster,” he insists emphatically. Remus thinks he hears a  _ yet _ added under James’ breath, but isn’t quite sure. “And she’s fine.”

“Checked on her today, did you?”

James ignores Regulus’ taunting question. “The wolf caught one of our friends and had a bit of fun cleaning her feathers. She found it amusing, though, and said it tickled.”

Remus focuses on making his stride slow to allow the other two to keep up. “I don’t remember,” he admits, his thoughts straining for any recollection of the night before. He wishes desperately that he could remember running through the castle with the beast.

The wood of the stair bannister was smoother under his hand than he remembered it being the previous night. “Will his highness be joining us?” he asked absently.

“I don’t believe so, he was still locked in his study working the last I heard. Not easy running a kingdom while hiding the fact you’ve been transformed into a hideous beast. Takes dozens of extra steps to do the simplest of things.”

“I don’t think he’s hideous.” In the silence that follows, Remus realises he has said that outloud. “But of course, I might be a little biased,” he hurries to add.

“If you saw how much he eats at dinner you might change your mind,” James quips. As he approaches, the doors open to a grand dining hall are thrown open and James gestures with a grand flourish. “Now then. What would you like to eat, monsieur?”

“Beef ragout, cheese soufflé?” Regulus offers.

“Pie and pudding on flambé!” James exclaims in sing-song, twirling on the table so that his flames gutter from the motion.

Regulus sighs, massaging where Remus imagines his temple would be. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s rather excitable at the best of times. Having someone visit for the first time in ages is going to bring it out in him more than normal.”

“That’s alright,” Remus says laughing as James continues to spin around humming under his breath, “and whatever you’d recommend to eat. Something with meat though, preferably.”

Other members of the household slowly trickle out to join them and entertain Remus while they wait on food. He props his chin up on his hand, smiling in amusement at the jubilance of the enchanted objects. “How long have you been like this, then?”

“Five years,” James replies, solemnly, then more dramatically cries out, “FIVE LONG YEEEEEARS WE’VE BEEN RUSTING!”

“NO SINGING,” Regulus cuts him off. Clearing his throat before adding, “but yes. Five years we have been trapped like this. But what is time when you’re looking at an eternity?”

“Oh come now, don’t get broody on us. You’ll spoil his appetite.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true,” Remus confirms with a nod, “I don’t think much of anything could spoil my appetite at the present moment.”

The food is exquisite, although why he had expected anything less, he isn’t sure. The large steak is rare and bloody, and Remus doesn’t miss the way Regulus cringes, but Remus couldn’t care less and devours the whole thing. 

The sun is still high in the sky when he finishes eating and his broom is fetched. Standing on the front steps, he feels a pang of sadness that Sirius hasn’t come to say goodbye. He wonders if he’ll ever see him again, but then shakes his head to clear these thoughts, reminding himself that he is a  _ werewolf _ and has no business associating with royalty.

Even if that royalty happens to be as furry and beastly as he is once a month.

He gives a small, sad wave to James and Regulus, before mounting his broom and making the easy trip back home to his waiting father.


	7. Chapter 6

Remus is surprised when a massive hawk owl lands on his windowsill, bearing the royal crest and motto  _ toujour pur  _ stamped in wax on the parchment it carries. The letter bears an invitation for Remus to return the next full moon, and so he does. And the one after that, until it becomes an entirely too easy routine to spend each one the same way; running through the castle with the beast and his attendants, and waking the following morning with a rose on his nightstand and his wounds treated with care. 

The beast never joins him for dinner the next day, but Remus learns through careful, subtle questioning based on hazy early morning memories of being lifted in strong arms, that it is his highness who carries him to bed after each transformation. Who lays him down gently and treats his wounds before letting him sleep. Who returns to check on him sometime later, a fresh rose plucked from his prized gardens, because Lyall had told him they are Remus’ favourite.

One month he arrives to the castle earlier than usual, a fine day in mid summer, the moon not set to rise for several hours. As he dismounts from his broom wearing an outfit gifted to him on one of his previous stays, he laughs to himself at the bizarre situation and his level of comfort pushing open the gates to the castle and stepping onto the lawn as if he belongs there. A werewolf in a castle - what has his life become?

He’s halfway up the path to the front doors when he hears the rapid chirping of birds and follows the sound, off the path and through the grass toward one of the gardens. The beast is seated on the lawn, bird seed scattered around him haphazardly, as if he tried to open the bag but burst it with his claws. Rather than attempt to regather the seed, he is settled on the ground with it, cradling some in his hands with several birds happily eating from them.

Remus’ laughter rings out clear as a bell and Sirius looks up in surprise.

“Did you have some difficulty?” he teases.

“A wizard never has difficulties! He executes it exactly as he means to.”

“I’m sure.”

“Your dry wit and sarcasm will get you into trouble someday, Lupin.”

“Undoubtedly,” Remus agrees easily, settling down in the grass near the beast. He lays flat on his back, staring up at the clear blue sky and breathing deeply of the fresh warm breeze that blows through.

From inside the castle, James, Regulus, and Lily hover around a window watching the pair below.

Lily sighs, the sound laced with melancholy longing. “He’s very sweet.”

“Too sweet to break the curse.”

“Yet Sirius is smitten,” Regulus remarks.

“Oh, absolutely,” James agrees easily, “Not that he would ever admit to it or act upon it.”. He watches the man-turned-clock beside him and is sure that if Regulus were able to, he would be chewing on his lip, the way he used to tend to do whenever he was deep in thought. “What is it, Reg?”

“Do any of us know exactly  _ what _ or  _ who _ would break the curse? Or what my dear mother’s phrasing was when she created it in the first place?”

“Well… no, but maybe His Highness does?”

“What are you thinking, Regulus?” Lily reiterates with a tilt of her feathers, reminiscent of a cocking of her hips.

“Remus  _ is _ sweet. But… he’s still a werewolf. Would his dark creature blood be enough to lift it…?” he trails off at the sight of James and Lily’s slightly affronted expressions. “I’m not saying that he actually  _ is  _ dark like her, I’m just saying who knows what the magic would decide, especially with her unable to guide it,” he hurriedly explains.

Still the two are silent, exchanging a look of trepidation, but also faint hopefulness. “Well,” James says slowly, “I suppose a broken clock is still right twice a day. Perhaps we shall see if this is one of those times.  _ Perhaps there’s something there- _ ”

“No singing,” Regulus commands absent mindedly.

Lily turns back to the window, peering down at the the two men below, where the birds have scattered, Sirius is roaring with laughter, and Remus is leaning on his elbow, pelting him with handfuls of birdseed. “If you are correct, who would have  _ ever _ thought it would be broken like this,” she wonders.

Regulus sidles up beside her and James leans against his other side. “My mother was known for being cruel, but imprudent. She was the type to act first and consider the consequences later. By God, she even regretted this almost instantly when she realised she had doomed herself in a fit of anger over being unable to control her heir, to be without an heir at  _ all _ through her rash decision making. Maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ her indiscretion and hasty spellcasting will be to our advantage this time.”

“The question really is, will His Highness open himself up enough to consider the possibility though. Believing himself doomed to never find love, he has closed his heart for so long, I fear…”

“That-” Lily interrupts, “will be up to Remus. But there’s nothing that says we can’t help it along at all.” With a wink, she sashays out of the room in flurry of feathers, leaving the two men behind her to trade a look, before rushing after her demanding answers.


	8. Chapter 7

“He asks after you, you know.”

Sirius hesitates at that, but barely enough to be perceptible to anyone besides James who knows him best. When he doesn’t answer though, James plows on.

“What harm could it do to have dinner with him? He is in the castle, he needs dinner, you need dinner.” He gestures with his candles to one side and then the other, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Which, James believes it is, and is irritated when Sirius keeps walking and forces him to hop after him much quicker than his stiff metallic limbs allow.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and stop.”

Feigning innocence, James asks, “what am I doing?”

Large silver eyes roll skyward, as if begging for patience. “I know that you are concerned I am _lonely_ and going to die _alone,_ however I will not condemn anyone to spending a lifetime with a beast, least of all someone as good as Remus.”

James looks at him pityingly, but doesn’t push the matter for fear of prodding an open wound of heartache. “It’s just dinner, Sirius.”

“It is never _just dinner,_ in matters like this.”

“Matters like what?”

Sirius stops and spins around, waving a great, black paw through the air as he searches for the word. “Matters of, of, oh why am I even arguing with you about this, the answer is no.” He turns and storms off, leaving James with no hope of keeping up.

By the time he finally catches up, Sirius is lingering at the entrance to the east wing. “Ask if his father is a thief,” James hisses.

Sirius fixes him with a look that conveys he finds this to be incredibly insensitive.

“Oh. OH! Yeah, perhaps not.”

“Where did you _think_ that was going to go?”

“Is your father a thief? Because he’s stolen the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.”

Even before James has finished, Regulus is smacking himself in the face and causing the hands of the clock to grind with a wretched clank.

“Amazing,” Sirius remarks, though his tone is anything but amazed. He climbs the stairs toward Remus’ room in the east wing, but pauses part way up to turn back around. “For the record, if I _were_ looking to woo anyone, I wouldn’t take advice from a candelabra who can’t even win over a feather duster or clock.”

James’ mouth drops, and Regulus’ eyes go wide before he is bustling off with an excuse about seeing to dinner preparations. Sirius returns to climbing the stairs while his advisor and best friend hurries to catch up with him.

Even with his sensitive hearing, the thunder and lightning outside drown out James and Sirius’ approach until they are right outside his bedroom door. He has just finished dressing, and inches closer to catch what the two are bickering about, smiling against his will at the relationship the two have.

_“Smile, be charming.”_

_“I’m always charming.”_

_“Well be more charming.”_

_“I thought I told you to leave it alone.”_

_“And I told you to invite him to dinner.”_

_“I will melt you down you-”_

_“Eh, eh, watch your temper!”_

Remus hides his wide smile behind a hand as the beast growls low. The knock on his door sounds a moment later and he takes a moment to school his features before calling out, “come in.”

Critical eyes roam over him with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Right as rain,” he quips, and the weather humours him with a clap of thunder as accentuation. He thinks he sees the corner of Sirius’ lips twitch in amusement.

“I thought, perhaps, you would like to pen a letter to your father that you will be delayed in returning?”

“Oh?” Remus asks in genuine surprise.

“You didn’t think we would kick you out into this storm, surely?”

“I don’t wish to intrude…”

“Don’t be silly. You are never required to leave immediately, I just never wish your father to think you are being held captive here! But I insist, you can’t fly home in this.”

Remus’ eyes flick to where James is watching them with great interest.

“Worried about me, are you?” he asks lightly.

The silence lasts a beat too long, before Sirius responds thickly, “yes. I would be.”

“Well, I have no desire to worry his highness. Lead the way and I shall pen a letter.”

Remus trails his fingers gingerly over the wooden surface of an expansive desk, littered with parchment and maps, quills, inkwells, and reports. He tries to picture Sirius hunched over it for hours, trying to run a kingdom despite his curse. Remus asked him about it once, how Sirius could possibly have the energy to continue despite his condition, and had received an emphatic answer of how his people deserved his best and it wasn’t their fault he was like this. His words still echo in Remus’ mind and he thinks of people like Gilderoy and most of the town where he lives, and thinks they don’t deserve Sirius and his goodness. But then, maybe he’s just bitter.

He sits in the hulking chair that envelopes his much smaller body as Sirius tries to locate a fresh roll of parchment that doesn’t have paw prints, claw marks, or expenses scribbled across it. James hops across the desk, pushing an inkwell in front of him and Remus plucks a quill from where it rests on, what he realises with amusement is, an order for more birdseed.

Dipping the quill in the inkwell, he pens a quick letter to his father, assuring him of his wellbeing and intent to remain at the castle until the storm subsides and he can safely fly home. When he’s finished, he withdraws his wand and wards the parchment against water as best he can, before tying it to the leg of a waiting owl.

Leaving the room, Sirius walks slowly, not wanting to leave Remus and searching for an excuse to remain in his company. Despite his disagreements with James on the situation, he would be lying if he said he isn’t aware of how much he enjoys being close to Remus. Enjoys any amount of time they get to spend together. It is, however, easier to hide that pleasure when the other is in the form of hulking wolf. He is able to disguise closeness, and physical touches, and canine kisses beneath the tussles between him and the wolf and with the security that the other seems to have no recollection the next day.

Dragging his feet, he finally says, “I don’t want to leave you bored in your room, what do you _usually_ do to pass the time?”

“Well,” Remus hesitates, looking down and fidgeting with his sleeve. “I spend most of my time reading.”

The beast simply hums, a low growl that Remus feels in his chest and isn’t sure how to decipher.

“Follow me, then.”

They wind their way down the main staircase and through several corridors until Sirius pauses in front of two massive doors, throwing them both open. He rests his paw on his chest, where Remus knows his wand must be, and tilts his head up. Remus has started to become accustomed to Sirius’ brand of nonverbal magic, but the ruffle of energy still causes him to shiver, gooseflesh rippling up his neck.

He gasps, mouth hanging open in awe and takes a tentative step into the room after Sirius who has lit all the candles in sconces on the walls and hanging from crystal chandeliers high above their heads. The room is even bigger than the dining hall where Remus has dinner every day after the full moon, but he would find this one infinitely more impressive even if it weren’t for its sheer size.

Stretching from floor to the soaring ceilings are wall to wall bookshelves with nigh an empty spot to be seen. “This is incredible,” he breathes in wonder.

“You like it?”

_“Like it?_ I have never seen something so wonderful in my entire life.”

“Then, it’s yours.”

Remus is startled by the earnest sincerity in Sirius’ voice, his heart giving a tremendous lurch. “Thank you.” He wastes no time in beginning to explore the monstrous library, pausing every so often to pull a book off the shelf and thumb through the pages before putting it back, just generally taking in the lay of the room before deciding what to actually read in earnest.

“How many of these have you read?” he asks curiously.

“Not all of them,” Sirius answers absentmindedly. Remus stops his wanderings to gawk at him. “What? Some of them are in Greek.”

“Are you saying you’ve read _most_ of these?”

“I had a very expensive education. And haven’t had much _else_ to do in the past five years.”

Remus shakes his head and Sirius allows himself a small smile at the other’s wonderous expression. The beast settles into a chair at a table, lighting the fireplace nearby to ward against the chill of the storm, his eyes tracking Remus’ circuit around the room with interest.

After his appraising laps, the man begins climbing the ladders and pulling novels seemingly at random from the shelves and stacking them on one of the room’s many tables.

He finds it endearing that Remus pulls the books himself, but still asks, “why don’t you just summon them with your wand?”

“I love the feel of the book in my hand. The texture of the spine beneath your fingertips as you choose the book. It holds its own kind of magic.”

“Are you always this romantic?” he quips.

Remus pauses his ascent on a ladder, twisting to wink at him. “Only with those deserving of it.”

Sirius’ traitorous heart speeds up, but he forces his tone to a dry deadpan. “So, only with books.”

“Obviously.”

Sirius pretends this doesn’t stab at him.

Silence prevails for a bit, and although it is comfortable, Remus feels as if they are waiting for something, until tentatively, Sirius asks, “have you no one at home, then? Besides your father.”

Remus focuses on the titles before him, stretching up and withdrawing another book from a shelf above his head. “Does a narcissist who can’t take no for an answer count?”

“I should hope not.”

“Then, no.”

“Why not?” Remus glares at him but Sirius insists. “I’m serious!”

“Yes, I know.” This time it’s the beast’s turn to glare, but he remains silent waiting for Remus to continue. “Oh, come off it, who exactly would I have waiting for me? It’s not as if I can be forthcoming with my condition, unless I wish to risk being put to the stake, and who would want a werewolf, anyway.”

“Burning werewolves was banned decades ago,” Sirius insists, appalled.

Remus pauses in his book collecting to cock his head. “It was, briefly, but the ban wasn’t enforced, and then it was removed all together again by the- oh.”

Sirius bares his teeth and Remus nearly flinches at the fearsome image, even knowing it isn’t directed at him. “By my mother…” he growls.

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s fine. It is most certainly _not fine_ and I should have known that and rectified it by now. It is not noted anywhere that she reversed the law.”

“You can’t know every single one of the magical laws for the country,” Remus sighs in a mix of exasperation and pleasure that Sirius seems to _care._ He _cares_ about Remus’ wellbeing, and the fact that that thought has come up twice in one day is giving him hope where he ought to have none, but it is a struggle for him to force it down.

“It will be fixed, and it will be enforced, I swear it.”

Remus isn’t sure what to say, and he’s sure his face is burning, so he focuses on the stack of books he has acquired.


	9. Chapter 8

“Whoahhh! Careful there, boy.”

“Sorry, Papa!”

Lyall chuckles softly, steadying Remus with hands on his shoulders. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Just heading to the castle.”

“Moon rise isn’t for at least 8 hours, what’s the rush?”

“Oh, well, Sirius has been showing me how to play wizarding chess, and we’re tied 2 games to 2, so.”

When Lyall smiles, it reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners indulgently as he studies his son. “I’m glad you’ve been having such a good time there with them. I get so worried about you…”

Remus wraps his arms around his father. “I’m alright, Papa. And I really love going there.” Drawing back, he waves his hands excitedly, emphasising his words. “Regulus and James are hilarious together, constantly poking fun at one another, and James knows  _ exactly  _ what to say to annoy Regulus. And Sirius showed me his library and it is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen! There’s so many books, I’ll never be able to read them all.”

His father pats his cheek affectionately. “Well, then don’t let me keep you. Be safe.”

“Yes, Papa.” Remus stoops to press a kiss to his father’s cheek before running off with his broom in hand, twisting to wave goodbye one last time.

The following day after the full moon, Remus dresses himself as soon as he is able and moves on stiff limbs toward the library, the vase of his newest rose along with him. He pauses outside a room, staying out of sight when he hears voices inside.

“Dance with me, mon cherie!” James exclaims within.

“Absolutely not, you pompous, arrogant lump of wax. I’ve been burned by you before!”

Remus smiles at Lily’s response, knowing all too well that she hides her adoration of the man behind her snarky retorts.

Regulus sighs in his signature sign of exasperation. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why are we dancing, James?”

“He gave him another rose.”

“Yes, he  _ always  _ leaves Remus a rose. What is your point?”

“This one is dark purple.” Remus scowls into the waiting silence, as puzzled as Lily and Regulus clearly are. “Do neither of you have an ounce of romance between you?! It’s the language of flowers! Each one he has left Remus has  _ meant _ something, you boorish lumps of magic!”

“Okay, James, enlighten us,” Lily replies, and Remus leans in closer to hear the answer himself. He’s not sure why it never occurred to him to question why Sirius gave him a  _ different _ rose each time. He resolves to find a book in the library on the language of roses.

James is smug when he finally answers them. “Dark lavender roses are used to express royalty, regal majesty, and deep adoration.”

Remus feels his face flush and he looks down at the cold crystal vase held in his hands, staring into the deep purple hue of the flower begging it for the answers to the questions now swirling in his head.  _ Who’d have thought this could be? _

Inside the room he hears Lily gasp. “Could it be?”

“Do you think he knew?!” Regulus asks.

“Ohhh but of  _ course  _ he knew, it’s Sirius after all. Right?” There is a note of desperation that causes Remus to furl his brow, he knows why  _ he  _ would be excited about this, but why are  _ they _ so excited?!

“Of course he does!” James exclaims, “but who would have guessed he actually act on it on his own! It took me a few months to realise what he was doing.”

“So peculiar,” Lily agrees.

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens then. How has Remus responded?”

“I made sure to mention to the boy that the roses were from his highness, I can only hope that his lack of refusal blooms into affection as well.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief, at the very least James doesn’t seem to have caught on to Remus’ interest in Sirius. He was worried his frequent questions after the man might have given himself away, but then again it took James a few months to realise his best friend was courting someone, so perhaps James wasn’t the most observant. 

“Can you imagine?  _ Human again!” _

“No  _ singing,  _ James, how many times must I-”

Straining to listen, Remus catches James’ whining tone as he ignores Regulus’ chastising in favour of trying to woo Lily. “ _ Now _ will you dance with me then?”

“Still no. But you’re right, this is a cause to dance, Regulus, dance with me?”

James splutters and Remus covers his mouth to hold back a laugh. “You’ll dance with a clock and not me?! You hurt me, and he’ll hurt  _ you _ when he trods on your feathers!”

“Oh, please, I’ll have you know I’m renowned far and wide for my dancing skills.”

“Yes, as a  _ human _ not as a  _ clock _ .”

Satisfied that those three plan to bicker and flirt amongst themselves for the foreseeable future, Remus turns away, but not before he hears Lily scoff. 

“I’ve seen the way you eye his broad panels when you think no one is looking.”

Remus sinks into a chair inside the library, setting the rose down in front of him on the table. His body is more sore than normal, but he thinks it has more to do with the stressful week he had at home leading up to the moon than anything that actually happened the night before. He has every intention of getting up to look for a book on the language of flowers, but can’t seem to bring himself to rise again from the chair.

“Sickle for your thoughts?”

Sirius stands in the doorway, large shaggy head cocked to the side in question.

He asks the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t  _ what do these roses mean?  _ “Do you think James, Regulus, and Lily will ever get together?”

Moving into the room and joining him at the table, Sirius hums. “If you can believe it, they’re closer than they were 5 years ago.”

“So, perhaps in another 20 then.” Remus delights when Sirius laughs uproariously at this response. 

When his laughter dies down, he appears thoughtful, gaze distantly fixed outside the window. “I’m not sure if the spell has helped or hindered. Certainly they are stuck together and it’s easier to see the real soul within a person this way, but there’s only so much you can do to romance someone like this.”

Selfishly, Remus wonders if they are still talking about their three friends. “What needs to be done to break the spell?”

Sirius turns his gaze from the window to study Remus’ face. He’s silent for so long, Remus wonders if he will ignore the question all together.

“Don’t you worry about that.”

Sighing quietly in defeat, Remus looks away, absentmindedly running is finger over the rose’s petals again. “How long have you known James?”

“Oh, quite a while now. He is Duc of the highest rank by his own right, only a step below Regulus actually. However his parents died when he was quite young; he inherited at only 8. When his parents were ailing it was decided he would come to live in the castle to receive his education.”

“And Lily?”

“The daughter of a Marquis who had plenty of sons and did not desire to have his daughter at home. She was sent here, although she was too young to serve as a lady-in-waiting to my mother. I think there was hope at the time a princess would still be born, in which case she would have been her  _ Surintendante. _ ”

“If the spell was broken would they stay here?”

“Yes, I daresay they both would. James has served as my advisor and I hope he would continue to do so if we were to somehow return to normal. Lily… unfortunately this spell took most of her  _ courting _ years from her. As long as she wishes, she will have a home here, where she will be cared for. And all of that aside, I’d like to see either of them try to leave without Regulus.” Sirius crosses his arms, a small smile playing on his lips. “Why the sudden curiosity about them?”

“Oh, just overheard their standard bickering courting ritual this morning and wondered.”

Sirius  _ ahhhs _ in clear understanding. “What was it this morning then? James reciting poetry? Regulus blowing out James’ flames? Lily leaving feathers just to irritate my brother’s sense obsessive of cleanliness?”

“James wanted Lily to dance with him, so she asked Regulus to.”

“Classic.” Sirius slapped his palms on his thighs, moving to rise. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I really must get some more work done.”

“Could I-” Remus bites his lip, but Sirius cocks his head in clear indication to continue. “Could I maybe, read by the fireplace in your office?”

He could swear that Sirius’ eyes warmed just a bit, more molten silver than midnight snow. “My door will be open,” he promises.


	10. Chapter 9

The next month is even worse than the last - Gilderoy won’t leave him alone, the townsfolk talk more than ever, some going so far as to question him directly as to where he’s going once a month and threatening to have him followed. The stress takes its toll on Remus’ self-esteem and he worries that he’s burdening Sirius and the castle’s inhabitants with his transformations - that he should decline the usual invitation to spend the next moon there. That he’s only being invited out of a perceived obligation. 

Even as he hesitates, quill poised over the parchment and Belle waiting to carry the letter, Remus can’t bring himself to deny himself a chance to see Sirius, to hear James, Lily, and Regulus’ banter, and have company for his transformations. His happiest days have easily become those spent at the castle, and Lyall seems pleased at his having made friends, often encouraging him to take his time in returning if he desires to stay at the castle longer.

This time when he awakens in his usual room the morning after, the rose awaiting him is blue - a deep, royal blue - and as Remus brushes the delicate petals, careful not to bruise them, he briefly wonders what Sirius would look like in that colour.

He’s sitting up in bed, the rose held between his fingers, careful to avoid the thorns as he turns it in his grasp, when there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” he calls, brow furled at the early hour. James and Regulus don’t usually come check on him until dinner, and the sun is still making it’s ascent.

The door swings in and Remus hears the shuffling weight of the beast even before he steps into view. Embarrassed by his state of undress, he nonetheless attempts to struggle through the pain and stiffness of post transformation to rise, but Sirius waves him off. “None of that, stay as you are. I shouldn't have come to bother you so early…”

“You’re welcome to bother me whenever you like,” Remus blurts out, blushing furiously at his rare display of uncouth run of mouth.

Sirius seems too distracted to notice, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt sleeve and glancing between Remus and the window. “I was just wondering if you would join me,” he hesitates stealing a glance at Remus before looking away and hurrying on, “for dinner this evening?”

Remus gapes speechlessly for a moment before stumbling over his words in a rush to get them out. “Yes, of course! I mean- I would be delighted. Honoured.”

“Good. Great. I’m glad. I will- ah, see you tonight then.” Remus bites his lip, stifling a smile as the normally unflustered prince backs awkwardly out of the room, rubbing a large paw on his neck.

As soon as he’s gone, the dramatic wardrobe burts to life, gushing over the promise of a night of dinner, finery, and dancing, and how she would dress Remus so that Sirius wouldn’t be able to look anywhere else the entire evening. “If he was awkward and flustered now, just you wait, sweetie, until he sees you after I finish.”

“It is- I mean… He is courting me, isn’t he?” Remus askes shyly, unable to look up from the rose in his hand.

“Yes, my deary. I certainly believe he is. And didn't he take long enough to do it! Why, when I’m a woman again I will smack that boy’s bottom the way I had to when he was a much younger lad and couldn’t keep his fingers out of the chocolate pudding!”

Remus chuckles, picturing a small, silver-eyed prince up to no good.

Time passes entirely too slowly after that. Remus is too nervous and excited to go back to sleep, but it would be silly to get ready yet just to pace his room. Eventually he changes into his normal clothes and goes to the library to consult with the book he found on the language of roses.

_ Blue roses do not exist naturally and may only be created through magical means. They represent the mysterious and unattainable and tell the recipient “I can’t have you, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” _

Remus’ breath catches as his heart strings give a painful tug. He wonders how he could get his hands on a large quantity of blue roses to give to Sirius, because the meaning seems more suited for him to be the giver than the recipient. He’s still turning over ideas for reciprocating the gesture to Sirius when he returns to his room to get dressed for dinner. 

The wardrobe hems and haws for long enough that Remus regrets not returning sooner, until she finally decides. The breeches are a deep, gold silk, several shades darker than the waistcoat and frock. His shirtsleeves are simple white with ruffled sleeves that show past the ends of the frock. He carefully folds the cravat, a yellow so pale it’s nearly white, securing it in place with a delicate gold filigree pin.

An enchanted hairbrush leaps to handle his hair, brushing until it falls in shiny waves over his shoulders, before tying it back from his face with a ribbon. Studying himself in the proffered mirror, Remus’ face is as shocked as he feels. If he pretends it isn’t himself staring back, he could even believe the man before him was worthy of a prince.

His silence must be answer enough because the woman of the wardrobe smiles and ushers him out the door. “Go on now love, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

Taking a steadying breath, Remus rests his hand on the door and tries to slow his racing heart, before quietly pulling it open and stepping into the hall. His shoes echo on the wood floors as he walks toward the stairs, but the sound does nothing to drown out the  _ thrum, thrum, thrum _ of his heartbeat.

When he reaches the top of the stairs he stops, staring in awe across to the western wing. Sirius stands equally halted, and even across the distance Remus can see the way his eyes trail down and back up. They both descend the stairs, meeting at the landing and hesitating, before Sirius proffers his arm. Shyly, Remus accepts it, resting his hand on the beast’s forearm, before they turn and descend the last flight of stairs together.

Remus attempts to inconspicuously steal glances at Sirius and it does nothing to calm the frantic butterflies that have taken up residence in his stomach. He is wearing the exact shade of royal blue of the rose he left Remus that morning, and Remus is mildly concerned that the prince is capable of occlumency for having chosen that colour.

The cobalt against his jet black fur is everything Remus imagined it would be, and reminscient of a winter’s midnight, his silver eyes the twinkling stars of the sky. As they are seated for dinner and a piano and violin beginning playing on their own, quietly in the corner, Remus is at a loss as to what to say to fill the awkward and empty space between them.

They both start to talk at the same time, cutting off to allow the other to speak, and end up laughing so contagiously that neither can stop. Frustrated with the formal distance between them, Remus stands, gesturing for the chair to follow him as he moves to sit closer. He leans in conspiratorially, whispering as if it were a secret shared between them in a room bustling with a full court of people. “I think we are past the point of chaperoned formality, are we not?”

Sirius’ eyes twinkle with mirth. “Are you suggesting I am anything but chaste, m'lord?”

“I am most definitely not a lord, my prince, and you have seen me in less than my shirtsleeves, as I recall.”

Sirius blushes but that doesn’t stop his eyes from trailing down the column of Remus’ neck to his chest before snapping back up to his face. Remus pretends not to notice as he sips his soup. He also pretends not to notice James, Regulus, and Lily gathered at the servant’s entrance and watching them with barely concealed rapture. 

After a quiet meal together, Sirius takes him by the hand and pulls him to his feet, leading him through a set of double doors at the far end of the room than  Remus has never explored. He had always assumed it to be an extension of the kitchen or servant’s quarters or something, but immediately realises his mistake as the doors are thrown open wide for them to a grand ballroom.

Polished marble floors gleam beneath a dozen burnished gold chandeliers dripping with crystals that cast droplets of light across them from where they hang suspended from the muraled and gold leafed ceiling. Floor to ceiling windows inlaid with lattice grace the far end, looking out over Sirius’ prized rose gardens.

His wonder must show on his face, because Sirius laughs, heavy and warm, his eyes alight with joy as he extends a hand to Remus. Hesitating, Remus hold his hand to his chest. “I’ve never- that is, I don’t know-”

“I’ll show you,” Sirius insists, extending his hand further.

Taking the chance, Remus lays his hand in Sirius’ much larger one, sucking in a surprised breath when he is pulled to Sirius’ chest. Sirius laughs again before stepping back again and bowing, still holding Remus’ hand, before slowly leading him through the steps of a ball dance that he hasn’t danced in nigh a half dozen years.

Even the splendor of the room falls away as Remus loses himself in the cadence of push and pull, like a moon pulling the tide, as he and Sirius step apart and back together to the rhythm of the enchanted instruments. The butterflies in his stomach have returned full force and burst into flight every time Sirius pulls him close, rendering Remus a blushing mess of nerves that have nothing to do with his not knowing how to dance.

Sirius, for his part, is an excellent leader, and never lets Remus stumble for more than a moment, even going so far as to whisk him off his feet during a particularly difficult turn, holding him securely against him with only one arm. Remus lets out a very undignified squeak, but the more flustered Remus is, the more pleased Sirius is it seems.

Out of breath after a particularly lively song, the two slow to a gently sway beneath the gently dimming lights. In the back of his mind, Remus wonders if James is nearby instructing the candles above them to a more suitable level for the mood. The very thought causes him to flush and glance shyly at Sirius through his lashes. 

“Thank you, for this,” the beast murmurs lowly. “I didn’t realise I missed dancing. Although, I don’t remember liking it quite so much when I was younger, so perhaps it is the dance partner and lack of crowd watching.”

“Thank you for tolerating my poor footwork!”

Shrugging, black fur ripples in the light. “You only stepped on my paw once.” Sirius winks, before frowning. “Are you feeling alright? I didn’t even think that you might be too sore or tired to dance.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you.”

Despite his reassurances, Sirius doesn’t seem convinced. “If you aren’t averse, we could change into more comfortable clothes and read by the fire the rest of the evening? I’m sure I could have some tea brought in?”

Smiling brightly, Remus squeeze the other’s hand. “That sounds lovely.”

He is only slightly embarrassed the following morning when he realises he dozed off on the couch at some point, and Sirius was forced to carry him to bed again.


	11. Chapter 10

Bruises mar Remus’ forearms from the last several days of Lockhart making grabs for him in his continued, desperate attempt to win Remus over and accept his never ending proposals of marriage. As he swings his leg over his broom and pulls his cloak tighter around him to ward off the chill of the autumnal winds, Remus curses both his affliction that leaves his body weak before the full, and Gilderoy himself.

He kicks off and winds his way slowly through the forest toward the castle. He wishes he had left earlier to accommodate his sluggish movements and the cold that nearly renders his grip entirely useless where it wraps around the wooden handle. 

Several times he slows further, positive that he hears something or someone close to him. He rises higher into the air to be sure that if there is a muggle lost in the woods he doesn’t fly right into their line of sight in his distracted folly. Even still, a chill climbs his spine with every rustle that has nothing to do with the winds whipping around him. 

Heart frantic, he leans lower over the broom, picking up his pace.  _ There’s nothing there, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, you’re almost there. _ He is almost there, can see a white spire of the castle just barely cresting the trees, when the noise grows louder and a spell whizzes past his ear.

Cursing, he hugs his broom tight with his knees, bending lower to make himself as small of a target as possible and purposely weaving between trees at random. Spells are flying regularly now, freezing branches around him in an eerie stillness defying the October winds.

The sun has already set and he’s grateful for his superior vision in the dark, positive that if he needed a  _ lumos _ now it would be a death sentence. He is almost to the gates, almost to Sirius, when a spell hits him in the back. He cries out, tumbling off his broom and hitting the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Black dots swim across his vision but do nothing to obscure the image of Gilderoy Lockhart looming over him, his usual egotistical and vain smile fixed upon his face. “Gotcha. Can’t run this time, now can you?”

Remus is helpless to stop him as Lockhart reaches out, but before he can lay a hand on Remus, terrifying roar rips through the air, the ground trembling with the pounding of massive paws. The beast flies through the air, knocking Lockhart to the ground with the force of their collision. The man reaches for his wand, but a swipe of claws snap it before he can cast a single spell.

“What- what  _ kind of monster are you?! _ ”

_ “You were wrong to come here,” _ the beast growls, low and threatening as he advances on Gilderoy who is scrambling backwards.  _ “You should never have laid a hand on that boy.” _

“I KNEW he was seeing someone else, but who would have thought he would stoop so low!” Gilderoy laughs, his arrogant self-confidence overruling his previous fear. “Ah but don’t worry, you won’t be around much longer to distract him, and then he will be all mine.”

Remus struggles to his feet, trying to find his wand even as he runs toward the two.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM, LOCKHART!”

“You would defend this BEAST?! And against me?! You can’t possibly mean-”

“He is  _ kind _ . And he is well read, and interesting, and caring, and everything I could ever wish for. And most importantly he doesn’t have to stoop to cornering me at every turn and attacking me in the woods to try and force my attention!”

“I don’t understand-”

“Because you are fobbish, arrogant, self-absorbed, and the last person I would every deign upon myself to marry!” 

Lockhart’s normally pretty face twisted in anger until Remus thought it was much more matching of the ugliness within him. “So be it,” the man hisses.

Sirius keeps himself positioned between Remus and Gilderoy, but he isn’t prepared for the handful of dirt the uncouth scrub throws into his eyes. The beast scrambles, trying to clear his vision. From behind the beast’s hulking form Remus can’t see Lockhart at all and realises too late that the man has unsheathed a hunting dagger. 

Remus’ ears ring with the beast’s roar that startles birds from the trees overhead, bursting into flight and leaving the forest as quiet and still as if frozen in time. He can hear blood pounding in his veins and everything happens in slow motion, but he feels as if he’s trapped in honey, unable to move as Sirius falls back into him, bringing him down with him to the ground and knocking Remus’ wand from his hand.

He struggles to free himself from the mess of fur and limbs and put himself between Sirius and Gilderoy as the other man snatches Remus’ fallen wand, holding it in the hand not currently holding the knife. “I have no idea how you tricked this boy into thinking that you’re worth anything more than slaughtering, but he won’t remember you much longer! Remus, this is for your own good.”

Remus doesn’t comprehend what Lockhart intends to do until he sees the motion of the wand weaving the spell. “NO!” He tries to lunge from the ground, grab the wand,  _ anything  _ to stop Gilderoy from casting a spell.

_ “Obliviate!” _

A green glow emanated from the wand, before travelling up it, leaping from the wood to Gilderoy’s chest. The man screamed out, dropping his sword and arms flying out, his body flying backwards until he was flat on his back. 

His eyes are wide as Remus stands perfectly still, waiting for Gilderoy to get back up again. When he hears “fluffy chickens” in high pitched, childish voice, he decides he really doesn’t care as long as he’s no longer a threat, and runs to Sirius’ side.

There is blood splattered on the soil, but Remus can’t see any on Sirius, only the tear in his cloak and the way he is still gives any indication of aught amiss. He leans over Sirius where he lies on the ground, tears already streaming down his face. “Please be okay, please be okay,” he murmurs, cradling his face in his hands. Sirius opens his eyes, but they are glassy and don’t seem to focus on Remus. Even so, a large paw reaches up, holding Remus’ face with startling gentleness. “Please be okay,” Remus begs again, louder this time. 

Sirius’ eyes focus a bit more, steady as his hand presses more firmly against Remus’ cheek. “You’re alright?”

“Yes, thanks to you. Stay with me, Sirius, I have to get you home.”

“At least I made it to you in time. At least I got to see you’re alright…”

“Don’t talk like that!” Remus exclaims. “Because of you I’m safe, because of you I’m less of a monster, even if just for a day each month. Please, stay with me, please, please don’t leave me! I love you…” Sirius’ blinks grow slower, his eyes more distant, and Remus leans down and desperately presses a kiss to his lips.

He gasps, pulling back as the air around them grows warmer and the wind starts whipping. Both of them are lifted off the ground as the light grows so bright that Remus can’t see the beast anymore. He struggles to reach out, but the wind is too strong, wrapping him in his cloak and spinning him in the blinding light until he has no idea which way is up or down.

The heat becomes so much that he feels as if he’s going to be burned from the inside out. He throws his head back to scream but nothing comes out, and just as quickly as it began, the wind dies down and deposits him on the forest ground again.

He stares at his hands. Nothing  _ looks _ different, but somehow he  _ feels _ different. Remus becomes aware of someone else standing with him, startled, he looks up to see the most beautiful man he has ever seen standing in front of him. 

The man moves closer, arms out and Remus backs up quickly, stumbling over his own feet and falling to the ground. His eyes are wide as he tries to scoot further away, but the man stops, his face falling.

He kneels down a few feet from Remus. “Remus, look into my eyes, don’t you recognise, the beast within the man that’s here before you?” Sirius begs, reaching out for Remus to take his hand.

Remus freezes - he  _ knows _ that voice. Moving closer he sees the same quicksilver eyes that the beast had.

_ “Sirius,” _ he breathes. He takes his hand and is pulled to his feet. Only a moment passes before he throws his arms around Sirius’ neck, propriety be damned.

Sirius wraps his arms around his waist, lifting him from the ground and spinning him around. His nose is buried in Remus’ neck and when he laughs Remus can feel it against his chest. Sirius sets him back down and Remus pulls back, frantically searching Sirius’ chest for any sign of injury, but even his torn cloak shows no sign of the wound. Warm hands frame his face, lifting it to meet Sirius’ equally warm gaze. “I’m okay. It’s alright.”

Hot tears burn in Remus’ eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Gentle thumbs catch the tears before they can fall. “Let’s go inside.”

Suddenly terrified, Remus pulls back, eyes searching the sky. “The moon! We need to get inside, you need to lock me up, you can’t be-”

“Remus, Remus calm down.” Sirius grips his shoulders, giving him a light shake to get his attention as he points to the sky. Following his finger, Remus’ breath catches, mouthing hanging open and eyes wide as he gazes upon the full moon where it rises above the horizon. Sirius rests his hand on the back of Remus’ neck. “You’re alright.” Remus laughs, a bit hysterically as Sirius pulls him close again, pressing a kiss to his temple and repeating the words there against his skin. “You’re alright.”


	12. Epilogue

Sirius’ coronation goes smoothly - shockingly so, for a leader who spent five years hiding away from his subjects as a beast in an enchanted castle. Multiple times during the ceremony Lyall has to lay a hand on Remus’ knee to still it when he starts to shake. 

The two Lupins are hovering at the edge of the room, Remus’ eyes trained on James as he spins Lily around the room, when Regulus sidles up next to them. 

“You’re in a bit of a strop today,” he says without preamble, cutting directly to the chase as he is wont to do.

Remus can’t help the fond smile at the prince’s signature lack of diplomatic savoir-faire. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Regulus answers, words dripping in sarcasm.

“Well, when will I see him again? No more full moon escapades, and he’s going to busy, and-” Remus cuts off at the sight of Regulus’ mouth hanging open in dismay.

“Surely you’re joking.” At the shake of Remus’ head, Regulus hesitates, clearly weighing something in his mind. “Did Sirius ever tell you about the curse?”

“No, he avoided it whenever I brought it up.”

Regulus leans back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest in a casual pose at odds with his usual stoic demeanor. “Well, I have a little story for you. A fairytale, if you will.”

“Everyone knows muggle fairytales are built on magical truths.”

“Well then, you had better listen closely, hadn’t you? Once upon a time, an evil queen tried to arrange the betrothal of her heir to a princess skilled in dark arts, strongly disliked by the subjects of her land, and wicked in all the ways the queen was. When the prince refused, she laid a spell on him, transforming him into a hideous beast as punishment, until he agreed  _ to spend the rest of his life with someone worthy.” _ Regulus gives Remus a pointed look, but continues, “the prince still refused, saying he would rather spend his life alone and as a beast than marry the princess. When the queen died, the castle lost hope of the curse ever being broken and were resolved to their fate. Until one a day,” Regulus looks away, gazing out across the ballroom to where Sirius was standing in front of a throne, a glass of wine in his hand and head thrown back in laughter at something James was whispering in his ear. “-until one day, a werewolf, with dark magic coursing through his veins, won his heart with his kindness and willingness to see the prince not as a beast, but as the man he truly was. The prince never believed such a kind and  _ good _ man could possibly break the spell, but he fell deeper and deeper in love with him, silently hoping for a lifetime with him within his enchanted castle.”

Remus can feel the silent tears tracking down his cheeks and is mildly embarrassed, hoping that no one looks over to the corner they are hidden away in. Tears even shine in Lyall’s eyes, as he wraps a comforting arm around his son’s shoulder and pulls him closer.

“What’s wrong?”

Startled by the voice, Remus jumps, looking up into the concerned silver eyes of one King Sirius. 

Dashing the tears away, Remus smiles watery. “Nothing at all. Don’t you have important kingly duties to attend to? What are you doing over here with us, your lowly subjects?” Remus teases, a genuine smile on his face despite the wetness of his cheeks.

“Never too busy for you.” Sirius’ eyes are warm and indulgent as he reaches a hand out to settle on Remus’ waist. Lyall pulls away to join Regulus against the wall, watching the two. “Would you dance with me?”

Eyes flick nervously toward the floor where royalty and nobility from not only their land but surrounding magical states swirled around the ballroom in grand flourishes of fabric in all shades of celebratory colours. A large hand cups his cheek, guiding his face back toward Sirius’ and away from the intimidating audience he knows will have all eyes on them. 

“Just you and me. That’s all.”

Powerless to say no to Sirius when he is as sweet as this, Remus smiles and nods, allowing himself to be guided to the floor. They bow to one another, moving in and out in the intricate push and pull that has become natural to them. The never ending dance of closing the gap and giving each other space, of being present and intimate, but also independent. The rest of the room falls away and all Remus can see is Sirius in royal blue, just as he wore the night they first danced together, Sirius with his long hair tied back from his face. 

As the song ends, Sirius holds him close in the center of the room beneath the sunlight and glistening gold and crystal high above them, heedless of the audience surely watching them. He toys with Remus’ fingers before finally speaking. “As king, I now have the right to choose my own betrothal.”

Remus heart stops, fearful of his ability to be friendly toward any princess or queen whom Sirius might choose. “Oh?” he asks lightly, tilting his head, but not quite able to look Sirius in the eye.

“Yes, and I was hoping that, well. That you might say yes.”

Remus’ head snaps up, searching Sirius’ eyes and finding nothing but sincerity and hopefulness, and perhaps a dash of nervousness.

“Me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, if you don’t want to…”

“Don’t want to! Don’t want to, he says!” Remus laughs, nervously, euphorically, emphatically. “Of course I want to, if you would have me.”

“Forever. I would have you forever.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The smile that splits Sirius’ face was more blinding than the sun breaking through the high windows. He raises Remus’ hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently, affectionately, before allowing Remus to do the same to him. There will be plenty of time later, when all the guests are gone and no one is intently watching their interactions, to talk more and hopefully kiss him properly, but for now it is enough. 

It is, Remus thinks, much more than enough.


End file.
